The first rejection was relatively easy to brush off. I was only a sophomore, I was new and green and far too untested. I’d applied with few illusions that I’d actually amount to anything. It was the New York Times. I was just learning what a lede was.

The lengthy email rejection was difficult to swallow, seemingly listing all my shortfalls and flaws. But I tried to take it in stride and tried to listen to the words of advice on how to shape myself as a young, learning journalist.

The second rejection was harder. I’d worked hard; so very hard. I thought I had a fighting chance. But yet again, a lengthy rejection letter – perhaps even the same one – was sent to my email. I still remember the moment I received it: I was sitting in a geology class, taking notes about sediment or volcanoes or some other Earth-y feature. I got the email in the middle of class and spent the rest of the time fighting tears.

The third application meant so much to me. It was simultaneously a seemingly hopeless last attempt – maybe this time they’ll like me – and a chance for me to prove to myself that I had grown into a capable journalist.

—–

As soon as the Institute started, I hit the ground running.

Immediately I tried to pursue a story, and immediately I failed.

It was a blow to the ego, but like the first application rejection, I brushed it off. I was barely given any notice and just maybe no one in Tucson was having a Mad Men watch party for the finale.

But then cam the second rejection – the second failure. Later on in the week, I’d failed to scrounge up enough sources on a story about a bridal store’s assets being seized. Then I was tasked to write a blog post about a court case and failed to be inspired to do that as well.

I felt absolutely drained of inspiration and motivation. Everyone around me was going above and beyond, producing amazing content. Yet I let three stories slip through my fingers.

But as almost always happens, things worked out. I produced five stories about everything from the weather to chickens. We published a beautiful paper. And the major crisis in the moment became a minor challenge of yesterday that will ultimately make me a better reporter.

—–

The Institute was challenging. It was a learning experience. It was the most exhausting two weeks of my life. But it was also one of the best weeks of my life. It was a place where I met some incredible people who I’m proud to call my journalism colleagues and even prouder to call my family.

It was a place where I experienced some lows in my journalism career, but also one where I experienced some highs.

I learned a lot of things that week and through out my entire time trying to get into the Institute: I learned to persevere. I learned that I will fail. But I learned that you have to pick yourself up and continue on, otherwise you’ll learn nothing from the failures and the rejections if you don’t keep trying.